Hamamelidaceae
by Petroica traversi
Summary: Stan likes to associate plant names with Kyle. Kyle is not amused. For Hollycomb.


For Aquifoliaceae Ilex opaca (aka Holly) who is the only person who will listen to my rambling about plants.

It all started when Stan began a tree identification course at CSU. It was required for his Natural Resources degree, and though he was thoroughly interested in all things outdoorsy, the course seemed like overkill. By the end he'd have to be able to identify 180 plants, and know the common and scientific name of each one, as well as the region in which it grew. He tried not to let that overwhelm him, though, and knew that if he took it one week at a time (and enlisted Kyle's help for his studying) that he could get through it. Maybe. He and Kyle devised a study schedule, and went from there.

Every week there were more and more plants, and they'd often blend together ("How many damn pine trees are there?" Stan shouted one stressful evening.), but every once in a while a plant would have an absolute gem of a name. Stan never hesitated to point these out to Kyle.

"Check it out," he said on the third week of his course, "Juglans cinera… common name: butternut."

Sometimes these would make Kyle laugh, while others would make him roll his eyes, because Stan was clearly trying too hard to find dirty names.

"Shagbark hickory isn't funny, Stan," he said irritably on the fifth week, while they were studying in the kitchen.

"Come on… shagbark? Like… shagging?"

"I get it, Stan, it's just not that funny."

Kyle fastidiously ignored Stan's pouting, and they spent the afternoon being curt with each other.

It was somewhere between the knobcone pine and the cucumbertree that Stan began to associate certain plants with Kyle.

"You could never be a western hemlock," he said one night while studying his flashcards in bed.

"Why not?" Kyle muttered sleepily, his face pressed against his pillow.

"Because it's Tsuga heterophylla. Get it? Hetero?"

"Phylla means leaved."

Stan huffed in annoyance, because of course Kyle would know random Latin words, and of course he'd kill Stan's bad joke with his knowledge.

"You're no fun," he said, poking Kyle in the neck.

"Suck my knobcone," was Kyle's drowsy reply.

"How about this?" Stan said a week later while they were having lunch in the student center, "I can call you my little quaking aspen."

"Why? Because I'm synonymous with Colorado and my 'trunk' is white as a sheet?"

"Well… ok well yeah but also because it's Populus tremuloides! I make you tremble sometimes. Yeah? How's that?"

"Tremble? You're overestimating yourself, I think."

"Oh really?" Stan said, "You do when you come, anyway! Sometimes."

He hadn't realized how loudly he'd said that until he noticed the people at the table next to theirs laughing at them. Kyle flushed red and began to pile his school things into his backpack.

"Where are you going?" Stan asked.

"I have things to do," he responded, though Stan knew it was a lie. He felt bad because Kyle was very private when it came to their sex life, and he must have embarrassed him. Stan watched morosely as he stalked off across the food court.

For the next week or so, Kyle adamantly refused to help Stan with his studying.

"You seem to be doing just fine on your own," he said, much to Stan's annoyance. Everyone in his class found weird or funny ways to remember the names, and he was no exception. He didn't know why it irritated Kyle so much.

It was Stan's annoyance that led him to make his biggest faux pas of all.

"I figured it out. Your tree," he said while shaving his face one morning. Kyle was sitting on the edge of the tub, watching him warily. Clearly he was pretty sick of the subject, but Stan couldn't just let it go.

"What's that?" Kyle asked.

"You are an American beech," he said smugly, "Fagus grandifolia. Doesn't that sound like an uppity homosexual?"

Kyle stared at him with his mouth open for a moment, and then stood up to leave. He didn't look angry this time, he looked sad. He said nothing as he passed by Stan on his way out of the room.

"Kyle, wait!" he called after him, but the only response he received was the slamming of their bedroom door.

The next few days were painfully tense (as was Stan's back from sleeping on the sofa) and he tried hard to find a way to make it up to Kyle.

"How about Betula lenta?" he whispered to Kyle on the first night he was allowed back in their bed, "Sweet birch. It even has heart-shaped leaves."

"It's called cordate, Stan," Kyle said, shrugging off the arm Stan tried to wrap around him, "And I'm not exactly feeling very sweet at the moment, so don't push your luck."

He gave up his little plant game after that, wanting to stay on Kyle's good side. The words still formed connections and images in his mind that he used to remember the names, but he stopped sharing them with Kyle. It took a few weeks for Kyle to stop being angry about the whole thing, even after Stan apologized, but once he got over it everything went back to normal, and Kyle started to help him study again.

He was glad, not just because he needed Kyle's help, but because he hated having him mad at him. It reminded him too much of the times his parents would fight, and that air of unhappiness had no place in his and Kyle's relationship, as far as he was concerned.

It wasn't until the very end of the semester, after his final that Stan brought it up again.

"Sweetgum," he said that night as they laid wrapped together under the sheets.

"What about it?" Kyle asked.

"That's your tree."

Kyle sighed, but he didn't shove Stan away, and that was enough of a sign to Stan that he could keep going.

"Do you remember sweetgum?"

"I remember all your trees, Stan. Maybe even better than you do."

Stan ignored the dig. "Hamamelidaceae Liquidambar styraciflua. It's my favorite scientific name. I love the way the words feel in my mouth. The "ambar" part of the name comes from the tree's amber-colored resin, which smells really, really good. The bark of the tree is rough and sort of scaly, and the fruit comes in these spiny little capsules, and those two features combined make it look kind of daunting at times. But if you look past that to the star-shaped leaves, the trees are really beautiful, especially in the fall when they turn this vibrant red color. It's definitely the best of all the trees I know."

Kyle laid there silently for a moment, staring at the ceiling and chewing on his lip. "You've completely lost me on all your metaphors there," he said finally.

"I think I lost myself, actually," he admitted, "but I like all these things about sweetgum, and they all remind me of you in one way or another.

"Alright," Kyle said, leaning forward to press a kiss to Stan's forehead, "That's nice. I'm really sick of trees though, so…"

"Yeah, me too," Stan admitted, "I'm all done with them though… next semester it's all about grasses."

"Well you can annoy me with that when you get to it," Kyle said, "Now go to sleep, butternut."


End file.
